Page 17 of Dark Side of the Cloth

In fact, she was already supposed to be gone from this world, taken out by the same tragic car accident that took out her friends, but that had not happened. Whitney had decided last minute not to go with her girlfriends on their “shopping trip.” It had taken a lot of time and energy to plan out the sabotaging of their car. When to do it, how to make it look like a simple accident, and this annoying lump of flesh had felt under the weather and avoided her fate…for now. She wasn’t exactly high on his priority list to finish off, so her time would come when he didn’t have bigger things to concern him.

Finally deciding to respond to her overly friendly ‘good morning,’ Dean spoke carefully.

“I would have to disagree, Whitney. It is not lovely today, considering the bodies of six innocent children were just discovered brutally assaulted and murdered. I’d think that with you being a mother yourself, you’d feel the weight of such a heinous crime?”

Those red lips snapped from a smile into a fake pout, the sadness never reaching her eyes.

“Oh, yes, that. Of course, it is such a tragedy, poor things. I just try not to think about it too much. It sets my heart into fits.” Whitney fanned at her face as if she might cry, and the back of his hand itched to feel it crack across her skin, maybe even break a bone or three.

Whitney grabbed his arm, her matching red nails like drops of blood on his robe. “It really is so sad.”

One fat lonely tear trickled from her grey eyes. It took effort, but he managed not to roll his eyes. Whitney had been gunning to get into his robes since he first arrived, and she’d become more brazen of late. It was no secret she was the town slut. In fact, she seemed to revel in the knowledge. Not that he gave a shit how much she fucked other people. It was her purposeful, poisonous drive to destroy others’ happiness that caught his interest.

Whitney’s husband either didn’t care, liked the idea, or was an idiot. Dean still hadn’t figured which it was. This type of sinner was more like a mosquito for him. Was she annoying? Yes, but she was not what he actively searched for, not what he craved to squash from existence.

He stared down into her eyes as she batted her eyelashes at him and all he wanted to do was pick her up by the neck and squeeze—he wanted to watch the light leave her eyes as she clawed at his arm. It wouldn’t stop the emotional issues he was currently facing, but it might make him feel a trifle better. He could take her back to the church. She would go easy enough, and then he could quickly kill her. But no, that was not the way he worked.

Giving Whiney his best comforting smile, he patted her hand.

“There now, don’t cry. They’re in God’s embrace, and He will take good care of them. Just as I am certain that suffering will rain down upon the sinners of this world.” He gently pulled his arm out of her talon-like grip.

Whitney’s eyes darted away from his as she bit her lip. She seemed a little uncertain with his veiled threat, but it didn’t last long. Whitney fluffed her hair. “Yes, I guess that’s the best we can hope for.”

Dean nodded with a sigh.

“Have a good day, Whitney.” He made to step around her when those bright red nails gripped his arm again. He was all too aware of her squeezing his bicep as she seductively sucked in her bottom lip, the tip of her tongue tracing the edge.

“Father, my son is grown and has gone off to school, so I can relate to how…lonely it can be on your own. If you ever have the need for some company, as I’m sure it gets tiresome in that big old church all by yourself, be sure to give me a call. We can talk or…something.”

Dean’s eyes met hers, and he couldn’t be certain but thought he heard her moan. She smiled wide and brushed past him, her body coming into contact with his. He looked back at her swinging ass. Another time, another place he might have taken her for a ride, but he never fucked his targets. She looked over her shoulder at him and gave him a wink like she didn’t just solicit a priest. The fact he wasn’t a real priest wasn’t the point because, as far as she knew, he was.

Dean ground his teeth together.

Whitney might have just pushed herself higher on his priority list.

“You may see me sooner than you’d like, Whitney,” he mumbled under his breath and turned, continuing on his way.

Something that Yasmine said kept playing over in his mind. She mentioned that this situation with the girls was bringing up old memories. One could assume that she meant remembering when the girls went missing, but he had a feeling there was more to it. Her reaction was too personal, too emotional for it not to have hit closer to home. Deciding to do a bit of investigating, Dean marched across the street and waved to a passerby as he aimed for Mabels.

Even though his mood was dark and broody, he made his way to the only diner in town that had the best burger within a hundred miles, hands down. Good old Mabel was nearing her eighties and still worked like a dog each day and ran a tight ship. Her employees knew better than to be late, rude, or come in with a dirty uniform. He admired her for that.

It hadn’t taken him long to realize that Mabel’s mind was as sharp as her tongue, and he took an instant liking to the blunt woman who wasn’t known for holding anything back. It didn’t hurt that Mabel treated Yasmine like a daughter, and he enjoyed watching the two women together—it was easy to see their deep bond.

And, although the food was amazing, there were more important reasons for coming here. This was the place to come for the latest gossip, the proverbial water cooler. His keen hearing was able to pick up on conversations, but Mabel would always fill him in regardless.

It hadn’t been easy selling Mabel on the fact that he was indeed a good man, but he finally enticed her into letting her guard down. That was when she made the switch from cool and all hustle and bustle to warm and chatty. Now, Mabel was always ready with a new name on her tongue and some terrible deed they’d done. Her motive for telling him, he hadn’t figured out yet, but no matter the reason, he was happy to have her as an honorary sidekick.

The little bell chimed as he pushed open the door, the delicious scent of fried food hitting him in the face.

“Well, hello there, tall, dark and handsome. Sit where you like. I’ll be with you shortly,” Mabel called out. Her tightly permed grey hair was the only thing that could be seen over the top of the saloon-style doors leading to the kitchen.

Wanting some privacy for this conversation, he made his way to the furthest booth away from everyone but waved and said, “Good day,” as he passed those already seated.

He picked up the daily paper lying on the table, an article titled, “Baby Snatcher: where could he have gone?” splashed across the front. The article claimed that the police had an arrest warrant out for the killer and that an anonymous tipster had turned the man in. Too bad they were never going to find him.

Prison was too good for people like him. They deserved exactly what he gave them. A one-way ticket to hell—if there was a hell, that is.

Mabel placed a cup of black coffee and a piece of cherry pie down for him before she flopped into the other side of the booth.